


the universe was made just to be seen by your eyes

by loveisneverover



Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: 3RACHA, 5+1 Things, Angst, Explicit Language, Falling In Love, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Kissing, M/M, Making Out, Polyamory, Seo Changbin-centric, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-29
Updated: 2019-04-29
Packaged: 2020-01-15 04:20:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,399
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18491227
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loveisneverover/pseuds/loveisneverover
Summary: Five times Seo Changbin was hopelessly in love, and one time he actually said it.





	the universe was made just to be seen by your eyes

**Author's Note:**

> title from saturn by sleeping at last, although the lyric's been slightly altered. teen rating for archive warning, violence, and explicit language, as well as some makin’ out. hook ups are also mentioned a couple times, but never described.

Chan and Jisung were Changbin's entire world.

 

It wasn't uncommon for the boy to fall hard and easy. He'd been in and out of relationships more times than he could count on all his fingers and all his toes. Some would last days, weeks, even months, but something always went askew before they could hit a year. He'd gotten really close once, he promises; something just short of eleven months if he were to estimate. It wasn't like he was keeping track or anything (ten months, eighteen days, six hours and forty-two minutes). He tended to stop storing away every memory, every embrace and every kiss, around the age of seventeen, and for good reason.

 

Changbin wasn’t a sentimental guy. He flirted from one person to the next, although rather shyly, and had been on way too many dates in his short lifetime thus far (two hundred thirty two and a half, don’t ask). He felt such an intense _want_ for others, constantly and unwaveringly, the want to hold someone’s hand and make them laugh so hard their shoulders shook and hug them from behind, arms fit snugly around their waist, and twirl them around and lazily peck them on the lips in the morning.

 

He loved people. They were what made being alive so worth it.

 

Even so, every time he thought he might have found “The One,” every time he poured himself out in front of someone else or whispered “I think you’re my soulmate” in someone’s ear tearfully, grin spread across his face, he’d had his heart broken. Whether immediately or later in the week, month, year, he’d find himself sobbing in a friend’s arms.

 

“How can a person be so cruel, Hyunjin?” he would ask aloud, biting down on his lip to stop a whimper from crawling up his throat. Hyunjin would just shake his head, running his fingers through Changbin’s hair until he had fallen asleep.

 

Changbin loved people. Around the age of eighteen, halfway through his first year of college, he stopped falling _in_ love with people. He didn’t do love like that anymore, didn’t do deeply invested romance like it was the only thing he knew (it _was_ the only thing he knew).

 

At least, that’s what he had tried telling himself.

 

Everything he had built up, the walls around his heart that were practically bursting at the seams from how full it was, started to come crashing down with Bang Chan and Han Jisung in the picture. They were music majors, like himself, and all three of them connected the moment they had met, at request of Changbin’s best friends. Seungmin and Hyunjin were disgustingly affectionate, but they knew good people. Chan and Jisung were good people.

 

They had only been in Changbin’s life a few mere months, and yet they felt more like family than anyone he had ever met. They’d comforted him through three relationships, twenty-six dates (Changbin got around a lot recently, for unspecified reasons), and a quick hookup or two. They’d been there through all of it, just like Seungmin and Hyunjin had been, and Changbin was grateful for that extra support.

 

Except this felt different. This was different than Seungmin and Hyunjin, because Changbin didn’t feel ridiculously giddy around the two all the time, didn’t feel his heart stutter each time they walked through the door. It was like that with Chan and Jisung, as much as Changbin wished it wasn’t.

 

He supposed, at first, he just saw them as people he could go to for help with music sometimes, for jam sessions and SoundCloud uploads when inspiration was striking. And then he had supposed, a few weeks in, they could make a group of sorts: “3RACHA,” as Jisung so cleverly called it.

 

Chan thought the name was funny. His face lit up when he heard it, and his eyes did the thing where they practically disappeared in his full cheeks and the tug of his lips, teeth showing.

 

Changbin had a revelation, thinking to himself, “that was kind of attractive,” in a way he couldn’t quite place.

 

He broke up with his current girlfriend not long after (thirty-nine hours and five minutes), and went to Seungmin for advice on the matter a few months later, when this feeling in the pit of his stomach made a reappearance and it couldn’t just be clocked up to his restless nature when it came to dating. Seungmin had experience with these kinds of things; hell, he’s been dating Hyunjin since Changbin met him the first day of freshman year. He must have done something right, something that Changbin had missed in all his years of messing around.

 

So there Changbin was, head rested atop Seungmin’s lap in their dorm room, looking up at the ceiling with thousands of questions on his mind.

 

He’d let one slip, see if anything comes of it.

 

“Seungmin, d’ya think we see people different over time?” Changbin asked, playing with his friend’s rings on his fingers. They reminded him of Jisung’s, pretty and silver and worn from wearing them so much. Changbin would try Jisung’s on sometimes, but he would snatch them up quickly before he could admire them, scolding Changbin playfully with a pinch to his cheeks. Changbin would remind Jisung that _he_ was the hyung, _he_ did the scolding, but he would still blush from the touch all the same.

 

Seungmin cocked his head to the side, brows furrowed. “In what way? You mean like with me ‘n Hyunjin?”

 

Changbin thought a bit, before nodding slowly. He can only _assume_ that’s what he means; he himself doesn’t even know.

 

“I mean, yeah. I liked Hyunjin, and then I loved him. Simple.” Seungmin smiled down at Changbin, who looked rather confused. “I s’pose your situation isn’t as simple, yeah?”

 

Changbin shook his head rapidly, eyes wide. “Not even slightly. There’s two of them, and I thought we were just friends, but sometimes they make me think things are more complicated, y’know?”

 

If Seungmin knew who he was talking about, he wasn’t letting on. “What do they do?”

 

Changbin thought back over the months he had gotten to know the boys in question; they were some of the best of his life.

 

Chan and Jisung were always understanding, always kind and willing to listen to Changbin’s ramblings. They were great partners in making music, some of their shit had even _charted_ , and even when the three were recognized in public once, Chan had wrapped an arm protectively around Changbin’s shoulders because he just _knew_ he was anxious. He knew somehow, without having to ask, and Jisung greeted fans hastily as he lead the two through gathering crowds, eventually making a sprint for Chan’s car.

 

And when Changbin would collapse in the backseat with Jisung, Chan putting his key in the ignition, Jisung would sit Changbin between his thighs, embracing his shaking form from behind. “It’s okay,” he’d whisper, and Changbin would believe him, believe him more than any of his lovers that had ever tried comforting him. “We’re okay.”

 

Jisung said it so softly, chin resting on Changbin’s shoulder, hushing him and saying “I’ve got you” periodically. And only minutes into the car ride, waves of calmness would wash over Changbin, and he’d be okay, and Jisung had him, just like he said he would.

 

Chan had looked in the rearview mirror at the two, a smile making its way onto his face, and that was almost too much for Changbin. He tried to focus on anything but the beat of his heart echoing in his ears. The rings Jisung wore that day, the “3RACHA” Chan had carved into the dashboard last week, the empty takeout containers by his feet; nothing was distracting him adequately, and he almost said it right then and there, even without knowing the boys for long (four months, one week, five days, three hours and fifty-eight minutes). Maybe it was just his mind acting wack as all hell in his panicked state. Maybe it was some sort of withdrawal he was having; he hadn’t been in a relationship for almost a month, although he’d went on a rather shitty date the night before.

 

The fancy restaurant the other man had taken him to had nothing on the couch in the studio, the one he crashed on almost every weekend with Chan, who would sometimes adjust himself in his sleep so he was hugging Changbin’s legs. His poor attempt at flirting had nothing on Jisung’s teasing winks when he caught Changbin staring, laughter bubbling from his lips as Changbin’s face heated up, looking away quickly and making himself busy. His awkward hug at the end of the night had _absolutely_ nothing on every brief touch of Chan and Jisung’s, the former sometimes picking him up bridal-style at Changbin’s dismay and carrying him around outside on walks with Jisung tagging along beside the two, offering humorous commentary and cooing at Changbin when he asked to be put down for the fiftieth time.

 

So he almost said it, in the backseat of Chan’s banged up ‘95 Chevy Camaro. He almost looked up at Jisung, almost made eye contact with Chan through the rearview mirror, just to say “I fucking love you,” because it was the only sentence he was able to form at the moment, the only few words he knew. I fucking love you. I love you so, so much, both of you.

 

But that had happened a week ago. Changbin had thought he’d get over it by now, but he hadn’t, he couldn’t, he wasn’t.

 

And, without naming names, he told Seungmin that he was scared he never would.

 

“They make me feel special, Min,” Changbin said, picturing the two with a grin. They were probably apartment-hunting at the moment, an activity that Changbin had opted out of. “Whatever you guys like, I’ll like,” he had said, and both their eyes had brightened so brilliantly at that, Changbin wasn’t sure he could spend a minute longer without kissing them square on the lips.

 

“So you saw them as friends at first, and now you see them as something more?” Seungmin asked for clarification. Changbin nodded. “Sounds like you should wait and see what happens, hyung. Maybe make a move or two.”

 

Changbin was known for making moves. Hell, he practically _invented_ moves. Whether he was exposing the sliver of skin above his waistband for a cute guy in his class or bringing a girl her favorite flowers on her birthday, Changbin was smooth. Sure, all that shit embarrassed him as much as the next guy, no matter how much experience he had, however it landed him dates nonetheless.

 

But it was different with Chan and Jisung. He couldn’t just rely on a charming tactic or a heat-of-the-moment, uncontrollable one-liner he’d say when he realised he had feelings for someone. He had to make them feel just as special as they made him feel, which involved something like “you made me want to love again, every single day we spent together so far.”

 

That could be tricky.

 

The easy thing to do was to tell himself it was impossible; they would never love him the way he loved them. His heart was too damaged at this point, anyways. How would something like this, the disappointment that would ultimately stem from it, help him in any way?

 

That’s just it: it _wouldn’t_ help. Changbin would bet on it.

 

So he ignored it. He let it sit deep down, let it scratch at his skin through every hookup and every date. He didn’t have it in him to find another girlfriend or boyfriend. He wished he did.

 

And as time went on, the three of them finally found their dream apartment for an affordable price. Changbin marveled at the size; it was nothing like his and Seungmin’s dorm room on campus.

 

“Wow,” is all he could say, blinking rapidly as if the sight before him wasn’t real, which made Jisung and Chan laugh hard enough that their sides hurt. They pulled him into a hug, so tight he thought his ribs might crack, and when he made this known they laughed even harder.

 

“How about that, Binnie?” Chan said, leading him into a bedroom down the hall by his hand, and Changbin had to stop himself from smiling embarrassingly wide at the nickname. “A room all to ourselves outside of the studio, with an _actual_ bed instead of that old couch.”

 

The mattress was _huge_ (and ridiculously comfortable, Changbin would later find out), with dressers on either side and a window that showed the Seoul skyline perfectly. It was too good to be true; it _had_ to be.

 

Jisung ran past the two excitedly, jumping onto the bed and falling back on it with a blissful grin. He looked up at his roommates hopefully. “This will do just fine, won’t it?”

 

Changbin couldn’t agree more.

 

And that night in particular, the first night in their new apartment, made it easy to ponder over what Seungmin had suggested: “Maybe make a move or two.”

 

Changbin exhibited a fair share of self-restraint when he was lying in bed on his laptop, looking through his library of samples, and Jisung came into the room, plopping down right next to him. He was talking about “beating Chan’s ass in Mario Kart” for what had to be the third time in the past few hours, insisting on interrupting any work Changbin was trying to get done. “We have reason to celebrate, hyung,” he persisted again, tugging at his bicep. “Come play a couple rounds with us; it won’t hurt nothin’.”

 

Changbin’s mind went blank at the boy’s close proximity, and it took all of his will not to kiss him right then and there. Jisung hadn’t even fucking _done_ anything, and Changbin was already feeling helpless.

 

“Yeah, okay,” Changbin agreed finally. “I suppose it won’t hurt.”

 

But it _did_ hurt. It hurt when Chan cheered as soon as Changbin walked into the living room, and Changbin couldn’t stop himself from smiling, couldn’t feign annoyance because he was overwhelmingly content right where he was. It hurt when he sat himself down between the two boys, both scooting closer to either side of him and shoving him lightheartedly with their shoulders every so often as they played.

 

It hurt when he woke up around three in the morning in a tangle of limbs, face burrowed in Chan’s chest and hand intertwined with Jisung’s. They were still asleep, soft snores emitting from both of them, their warmth radiating against Changbin’s skin. They shouldn’t have looked that ethereal in the dim light of the television, and Changbin shouldn’t have found himself in their arms, safe and sound, but he sure fucking did.

 

It hurt when he sensed the word, hot on his tongue, and he mouthed it to himself to see how it felt.

 

 _Love_.

 

So maybe Seungmin was half right, in a way. He could afford to “make a move,” but he _couldn’t_ afford to wait around to do it. Jisung and Chan probably couldn’t take a hint if it fucking decked them in the face, so Changbin had to be obvious. _Very, very obvious._

 

Thus, a week later, the three sat in the studio together, sleep-deprived and disheartened. They had recorded a shitton today, but nothing sounded quite right. Nothing was coming together, none of the lyrics were sticking out or hitting hard, and they felt like they had wasted their time today, writing a song that amounted to practically nothing.

 

Jisung was being especially hard on himself, going in and out of the recording booth rapidly with an exhausted air about him. Every time he stumbled over a word, he cursed to himself, and Chan had to remind him that it was okay, that they all made mistakes and that it wasn’t the end of the world, it was just a song, they could record another take if he liked. Jisung just shook his head and kept going.

 

It was kind of worrying, if Changbin was being honest.

 

All three of them hit their breaking points some nights, and they all dealt with it differently. Jisung seemed to keep working until he couldn’t, to sing until his throat hurt and layer vocals until something clicked.

 

“Maybe we should just head home for the night, Ji,” Chan suggested, running a hand through his hair. He leaned back in his desk chair, feet propped up by the soundboard, and looked behind him at Changbin. “Our flow’s all wrong, don’t you think?”

 

“I can nail this fucking verse, I just _know_ I can,” Jisung chimed in determinedly, but his expression betrayed him, and the corners of his mouth turned downward even farther. His bottom lip quivered, and Chan and Changbin both sat up straighter, sharing a look. “God, fuck, I don’t know, guys. I shouldn’t have even written this stupid shit.”

 

The two approached Jisung, who was lying on the studio couch with watery eyes, staring at his lyrics. Chan pulled him up from his current position, sitting him between himself and Changbin.

 

“The song isn’t stupid, Sungie,” Changbin said softly, moving a hand to Jisung’s lower back. Chan did the same, hand atop Changbin’s, squeezing encouragingly. Changbin chose to ignore that, or, ignore the way it made his stomach do backflips. “You know we’re here for you always, right? We know how talented you are; we just think it’s late and we should probably get going now. We can try again in the morning, yeah? Does that sound good?”

 

Jisung inhaled shakily, tears streaming down his face, and he smiled weakly. “Promise me it’ll be better tomorrow. Promise me I’ll wake up and I won’t feel this shitty.”

 

Chan chuckled, moving Changbin’s hand to rub circles in Jisung’s back. “We never feel shitty waking up together, Ji. We’ll hold on extra tight tonight, I swear.”

 

And without thinking on his decision for even a second, Changbin brought up a hand to cup Jisung’s chin, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek. It didn’t last long, but Changbin couldn’t possibly regret it when Jisung’s skin went scarlet, and he brought up a hand to touch the side of his face, right where Changbin had kissed him. Chan just laughed, quickly pecking Jisung’s other before standing up and grabbing his bag, shoving loose papers around the studio into it. “Let’s go, boys,” he called from inside the recording studio, collecting their empty bottles of water before zipping his bag shut.

 

Changbin got up, offering a hand to Jisung, who took it with an unreadable look and hoisted himself off the couch. Changbin felt worry seep into his conscience; what if Jisung found the kisses weird? He really _was_ trying to comfort him, but of course he wouldn’t mind doing it again, as long as Jisung was okay with it.

 

The three began their drive back home in Chan’s scratched-up Camaro, Changbin riding shotgun and Jisung in the backseat, when the silence outside of the rumble of the engine and Chan’s soft humming was broken.

 

“You know, we’ve never kissed before,” Jisung mumbled, voice barely audible. Changbin could see him wringing his hands together in his lap through the darkness of the night, looking up at the two in front of him. “Am I dreaming or something? That’s not...we don’t do that. Right?”

 

Changbin looked to Chan for an answer; his heart rate had sped up and he wasn’t sure what Jisung was getting at.

 

Chan’s mouth quirked up, although Changbin hadn’t noticed, and he stopped the car at a red light before leaning over the console to plant a kiss on Changbin’s jaw, sweet and careful. Changbin felt himself blushing before Chan had even pulled away, and he began to question whether he was dreaming or not himself.

 

“We do now, if everyone’s alright with that,” Chan simply replied.

 

Changbin looked to the backseat, and he found it comical, Jisung’s dilated eyes and slightly unsteady breathing. “Uh. Yeah. I’m, uh, more than alright. With doing that.”

  
  
Maybe it was a trick of the light that made Changbin imagine both boys smiling dazedly as they pulled into the apartment complex parking lot. Maybe it was the fatigue that came along with a late night that forced him to ignore the way Jisung held on with a grip of steel before dozing off, the way Chan’s hands fit perfectly in the curve of his hips.

 

At this point, Changbin didn’t care if the friendly touches could possibly mean more. He was just happy to be caught up in the embrace of three people, caring and affectionate towards one another.

 

So what if he was in love?

 

He could get over it one of these days, just as he’d gotten over love long ago. He could bury it deep down in his chest, forgotten like every other lover he’s ever had. Five months, three weeks, sixteen days, one hour and nine minutes with Bang Chan and Han Jisung was a fraction of the time he’s spent invested in other partners. He didn’t have to be so absurdly caught up in them, didn’t have to miss them every single second he wasn’t with them and cherish every single second he was.

 

Except he _was_ caught up, and fuck, how could he not be?

 

That night had changed the tides of their relationship, made everything _different_ , and Changbin couldn’t quite place _how_.

 

He would wake up to Chan pressing fleeting kisses to his collarbone, messy and nonchalant, before getting up to make breakfast, Jisung tracing shapes in his palms. The three would hold hands casually during lectures they had together, leaning close to whisper stupid jokes in each other’s ears. And Changbin would swear on his _life_ that Chan tried stopping every single argument in the studio with a tackle of a hug, one that knocks you off your feet and makes you laugh so hard you cry.

 

Seungmin and Hyunjin were rather suspicious of their friends, giving them the side eye whenever they were hanging out together.

 

“Are you _sure_ you’re not dating them?” Hyunjin once asked adamantly, pressing a finger to Chan’s side. “Because I’m almost certain you are. That’s how I act with Minnie, anyway.”

 

Chan simply laughed, shaking his head. “I think I would be the first to know if I were dating someone, Hyunjin. We just have a special bond, that’s all.”

 

Seungmin mouthed “special bond” to Changbin exaggeratedly, winking multiple times, and Changbin didn’t hesitate to punch him in the shoulder before continuing their walk.

 

And so days of constant closeness became weeks and those weeks became months and Changbin was left just feeling satisfied with his life as a whole. He didn’t spend too long frowning anymore, not when someone was always there to come bounding up to him, arms wide open and comforting words at the ready. He could lie in Jisung’s lap for the hell of it now, not just when he was anxiously escaping crowds of fans in the Camaro like he had in the past. He could look up at Chan in their bed and tell him he has a beautiful smile without reddening embarrassingly, without feeling sorry for it in the slightest. He couldn’t be sorry, he could _never_ be sorry, complementing who Changbin was slowly starting to realize could be the two loves of his life.

 

Fuck, that felt weird to acknowledge.

 

He would never admit it, never let it slip that he spent every waking moment glad to have been born in the same millennium as Chan and Jisung.

 

But God, he sure fucking wanted to.

 

It became increasingly hard to ignore his infatuation with his best friends, particularly when they had been spread out on their couch one spring evening, Chan clicking through channels on the TV as Changbin and Jisung looked down at their phones with mild interest.

 

“Can we just admit we’re all bored as hell?” Chan groaned, throwing the remote aside and turning to face his roommates.

 

Changbin looked up from his phone, pocketing it and quirking an eyebrow. “Alright, Einstein, what do you suggest we do about it?”

 

Chan thought for a moment, eyes lighting up at an idea. “Make out with me! Both of you, make out with me!”

 

Jisung choked on his own spit, coughing loudly as he hit his chest a few times with his fist, setting his phone aside. “That’s, uh. A bold thing to ask of us, Chan.”

 

“Well, what the fuck else are we supposed to do?” Chan asked exasperatedly, sitting up from his laid-back position. “Here.”

 

He leaned forward from where he was sitting, climbing atop Jisung’s lap to straddle him. He cupped the side of his face, pouting. “Han Jisung,” he began, and the man in question looked up at him with wide eyes. “Am I allowed to kiss you, on the lips, and then proceed to kiss Seo Changbin, also on the lips?”

 

Jisung flushed. “Yes, you fucking _dork_ , why would you phrase it like—”

 

Chan’s lips crashed against Jisung’s sloppily, as they were both out of practice, although that didn’t stop them from smiling against one another. Changbin found it difficult not to smile himself, watching the two, before deciding to join in, lightly mouthing at Jisung’s neck as Chan ran his tongue along Jisung’s bottom lip. Chan reached aside for Changbin, turning himself to face him directly, thumb under his chin.

 

“Seo Changbin, am I allowed to—”

 

Changbin kissed the boy above him, rolling his eyes as he did. He felt Jisung nipping at the skin behind his ear, where he was sensitive, and Changbin breathed deeply, overwhelmed by the intense and fucking passionate _love_ he felt for the two people before him. He adored them entirely and endlessly; he’s not sure there’s anyone he’d ever rather love in his lifetime. He wanted to stay right here forever, in this moment, trading kisses with his college sweethearts as they whispered words into his skin.

 

He spent so much of his life trying to forget, all of the past lovers and dates and hookups and heartbreaks in the back of his mind, nagging at him when he least expected them to. But he didn’t want to forget how Chan and Jisung’s lips tasted, how they felt on his own, on his cheeks, on his jaw, on his neck, on his collarbone. He didn’t want to forget the way Jisung said “holy shit, you’re so fucking pretty” against his mouth, small giggles spilling from Chan as he sucked bruises wherever he could. He didn’t want to forget that evening that brought them into new territory, a place they thought they’d never find themselves, serene from every smooch and graze of lips and silly comment that sent them cackling.

 

And so they ended their night holding each other, as they often did, finding some sort of solace in their soft mattress.

 

“Can’t believe I wasted my whole night making out with a couple of losers,” Changbin teased, fingers moving through Jisung’s hair rhythmically as the younger snuggled against him, snorting.

 

“But you love us anyway, Binnie,” Chan muttered beside him tauntingly.

 

And Changbin _knew_ it was just a joke, but the truth of it all hit him like a load of bricks for the hundredth time since he’d met the two (Seven months, two days, eighteen hours and forty-six minutes). He felt himself stiffen under their touch, and Jisung sat up a bit, concern written all over his face.

 

”You alright, hyung? Because what we just did was, uh, intense, for us three.”

 

Changbin snapped out of his thoughts, nodding along to what Jisung was saying. “Don’t worry about me, Sungie. I treasured every moment of it,” and he did.

 

He loved them, and they might just love him back.

 

And so he kept expressing it, as deeply as he could, as if his time to do so was running out. He kissed them desperately, like loving them wasn’t enough, and it _wasn’t_. Words like “love” couldn’t even begin to describe how Changbin felt about Chan and Jisung. He needed a word for wanting so badly to erase a chunk of his life from existence so he could fill it with memories of him and his roommates, needed a word for wanting to go back in time and meet them before he had ever gone on a single date, because they were the only partners of his that had ever mattered.

 

And while they didn’t label anything, while they didn’t ask each other out or say things like “boyfriend,” they knew. They knew their hearts would beat in time with one another, knew they were their first and last thoughts from dusk to dawn.

 

Changbin wasn’t poetic, but Chan and Jisung made him want to be.

 

He told them so one summer evening, while they were eating takeout in the kitchen. He didn’t mean to say it so bluntly, but Chan was making faces at Jisung to try and get him to spit out his soda, and they were so endearing and adorable that Changbin couldn’t stop himself before he knew what he was doing.

 

”You both are my entire world.”

 

Jisung _actually_ spit his soda out at this, the liquid dribbling down his chin as he frantically wiped it up with a napkin, Chan too awestruck to laugh at his misfortune.

 

Changbin wasn’t one to come right out and let his feelings be known, either. This was a rare occurrence, and the two boys across from him listened attentively, leaning forward in their seats.

 

“You know,” Changbin started. “I look at you two sometimes, and I just...see everything. As dumb as that might sound. I see everything I could never live without, my safe place and my happiness and my _home,_ and I’m just...so thankful, to be in the presence of two incredibly smart, kind, thoughtful, handsome people that I will never even begin to deserve.” He pinched the bridge of his nose, chuckling to himself. “God, it hurts to think about how much you mean to me.” He looked back up at them, both obviously straining so they wouldn’t cry, the fucking saps. “Just always know that, and never let yourselves forget it, yeah? I lo—uh. I, uh, look forward to seeing you guys every day, and you make every goddamn year I’ve been on this earth worth it.”

 

Chan started to sob, chest heaving as Jisung hugged him tightly, breathing labored. Changbin stood up and walked over to them, embracing them as best as he could while they were practically shaking.

 

”Dude, you’re getting the f-fries wet,” Jisung stuttered, moving Chan farther away from the table. That made Changbin laugh uncontrollably, doubling over as Jisung and Chan wiped away their tears, their laughter chiming in with his own.

 

When Changbin rose back up to look at the loves of his life, they were just staring at him, smiles wide and unbelieving. Jisung whispered something to Chan, which made the elder smile even harder, eyes watering once again.

 

”What is it?” Changbin asked. “Is there something on my face?”

 

”No, angel, it’s just,” Chan said, approaching Changbin, arms snaking around his waist. “You think you’re so incredibly lucky to have us, yeah?”

 

Changbin nodded rapidly in affirmation, failing to see where this was going.

 

“But it’s us who’re lucky, baby. God, we’re _so_ fucking lucky.” Chan kissed him slowly, touches light and barely noticeable as he moved his hands up Changbin’s sides, finally resting on the small of his back.

 

”Every morning I get to see you, Binnie, gorgeous even through sleep deprivation,” Jisung spoke, walking up to the two and squeezing their hands tightly, “I count my blessings, and I count them again, and again and again and again. And I do the same when Chan walks in with his signature eggs and bacon, wide awake and beautiful, and I decide time after time that there’s no place I’d rather be.”

 

Changbin was going to fucking lose it.

 

He loved them. He loved them. He fucking _loved_ them, with all of his heart.

 

And so maybe that’s why it hurt even more, the night right after, when they had climbed into the ‘95 Chevy Camaro for a restaurant reservation. The three were positively beaming; Friday date nights were their favorite time of the week, and Jisung had gotten to the passenger side first in his excitement, calling “shotgun!” loud and proud.

 

Changbin wished he hadn’t. He really, really wished he hadn’t.

 

He scooted into the backseat, smiling brightly at Chan who adjusted the rearview mirror and winked at him through it, before starting up the car and making their way out of the apartment complex parking lot.

 

They were on their way to an Italian steakhouse, one Changbin had been begging to try for a long fucking time (One month, six days, four hours and fifty-eight minutes). He could barely sit still at the prospect of mouth-watering food in his near future.

 

He saw the headlights before Chan and Jisung did, out his car door window in a flash of flying color.

 

”Chan,” he started, cautiously, because Chan was a good driver; he would know what to do, and everything would be fine. They would all be fine.

 

It was too late.

 

It wasn’t loud enough.

 

He should have screamed.

 

The blood-curdling cries made their way up Jisung’s throat before anyone else’s, a force slamming into their right side, so strong the car flipped over entirely before landing upright. Changbin heard glass shatter, heard the airbags inflate, and it was all slow motion from there.

 

His eyes were glossy, and he could barely feel a thing, but he saw the digital clock beneath the car radio flashing a “6:22 P.M.” at him, almost tauntingly.

 

And as the clock in the car paused, all inner sense of time Changbin seemed to have stood still, too. He wasn’t keeping track of the minutes anymore; no, that was the last thing on his mind.

 

He heard Chan’s call faintly, a pained “Changbin. Jisung.” falling from his lips. Changbin unfastened his seatbelt, hands shaking as he crawled forward in the car. He felt glass slice at his skin from underneath him, felt the corner of the console dig into his thigh, but he paid it no mind the moment he saw Chan and Jisung, limbs intertwined as if they were back at their mattress in the apartment.

 

There was blood everywhere Changbin looked, and while he didn’t seem to be too scratched up himself, Chan and Jisung were a completely different story.

 

”No,” was the first thing Changbin had said, and it came out as more of a question than anything, like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. He fucking couldn’t.

 

He heard voices in the distance, cars honking, sirens just barely audible, but none of that mattered. What mattered was the rise and fall of Jisung’s chest as he breathed, the shards of glass that Changbin hurriedly picked out of Chan’s arms, face, legs, everywhere.

 

”No. No, no, no, no, no,” he mumbled, and he felt the tears coming, hot down his face. “This isn’t happening. This isn’t fucking happening.”

 

Jisung’s breathing was slower now; Chan was gushing blood from a shard lodged in the side of his neck, and Changbin was so fucking afraid. He didn’t know what to do, where to go, how to fix it.

 

He wished it were him.

 

”Hey,” he said against Chan’s skin, then a bit louder when he didn’t respond. “ _Hey_!”

 

”Binnie?” Jisung said, voice breaking, and Changbin turned to him, bringing both men closer with all of his might, pressing their foreheads against his. It was like dragging dead weight.

 

”It’s okay,” Changbin whispered, lightly kissing both of their faces, bruised and cut up. “We’re okay. An ambulance will get here—I hear one, I’m sure of it—and we’ll be okay, yeah?”

 

Jisung nodded slowly, a small smile forming on his face. Chan wore the same expression, albeit a bit more tearful. He latched onto Changbin’s arm, head falling forward a bit. “Kiss me...one last time, like you d-did in our living room, a few months ago.” The words were forced, like it was becoming difficult to form them, and it probably was; blood was oozing from the corner of his lip, which Changbin cleaned up quickly with his sleeve. “You too, dumbass,” he said, raising his arm weakly to point a finger at Jisung before it dropped to his side.

 

”Okay,” Changbin breathed out, and Jisung leaned forward with him, the three pressing kisses to one another’s lips. Changbin could feel the other two’s tears, cascading down their faces and onto his own, but he kissed them all the same, like he had never kissed anyone before. He kissed them desperately because time _was_ running out; their lips were coated in saliva and blood and it was the worst Changbin’s ever felt in his entire life, cursing every god and deity he’s ever heard of. And yet Chan and Jisung were beautiful, and he loved them, and he said it with conviction, repeating it like a mantra.

 

”I love you. I love you both, so fucking much that it hurts, and I’ve loved you practically ever since I met you. I love you. I love you. I love you.”

 

And Chan and Jisung repeated it back to him, words becoming shakier, quieter, and yet they still said it with such determination that it made Changbin only cry it louder, shrieking when he felt his lovers go slack against his chest. They had left so easily, it had happened so quickly—it wasn’t fucking fair. He cried out for help, for someone, for anyone, and he heard the sirens grow louder, ringing in his ears.

 

But he also heard them whispering it, and whether it was just his imagination or they were still alive, repeating the words he had struggled so much to say, they loved him. Chan and Jisung loved him, and he loved them, and they knew, and they would always know. 

 

Nine months, two weeks, five days, twenty-one hours, and thirty-six minutes. It had been nine months, two weeks, five days, twenty-one hours, and thirty-six minutes since Seo Changbin had met the loves of his life.

 

The Camaro went quiet.

**Author's Note:**

> talk to me on twitter @lovesneverover !
> 
> kudos and comments are always appreciated :^)


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